


metaphorical

by the_ragnarok



Series: find happiness in misery [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Consent Play, Crying, D/s, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Victim Blaming, M/M, Nightmares, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape Recovery, brief onscreen flash of past noncon, emotional reluctance play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26412133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: Martin wakes up crying, and tries to move to another room so he won't disturb Jon. Jon has none of it.
Relationships: Jon Sims/Martin Blackwood
Series: find happiness in misery [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630777
Comments: 18
Kudos: 220





	metaphorical

Martin's on his belly as Peter drives into him, forcefully. He didn't use enough lube, and Martin can feel himself tearing up - and torn apart. "Please," he says, with the last of his breath. "Please."

"You're right to beg." Despite how hard Peter's fucking him, he doesn't sound out of breath at all. "You do realize this is the only way anyone could ever want you, don't you?"

That's when Martin wakes up. Perhaps the worst part is that he's hard.

He takes a moment to try and compose himself. _You're safe. You're in Jon's bed. Jon would never--_

And that's when the next wracking sob hits, so loud and sudden that Martin stiffens, that next to him Jon stirs and mumbles his name.

"It's fine," Martin tries to whisper, choked. "Go back to sleep." 

But Jon blinks further awake. "You're crying."

"Yeah," Martin admits. "I'll go to the living room. Sorry for waking you up." He gets up.

Before he can go, Jon's hand settles on his wrist. "I dunno if I can do the voice," Jon says, muzzy with sleep. "Pretend I am and tell me if you want to be alone." Jon isn't using the voice. Martin could lie perfectly well, and Jon would take him at his word. 

"I don't want to be alone," Martin says, small.

Jon nods. He sits up. "Do you want to leave the bed?" This time, there is an echo of that voice of his, the one Martin can't refuse.

Martin closes his eyes. "No."

"Then come to bed."

Martin huddles under the blankets, lying on his side, curled awkwardly around his own erection. It feels almost inflamed, like he's sick. He has to be sick, to have enjoyed that dream. 

Jon rests a wonderfully cool hand over Martin's forehead. "Do you want to tell me?"

"Yes, but," Martin shudders, "icky stuff," he says. Jon doesn't like hearing about sex. 

"Understood," Jon says shortly. "Tell me anyway."

There's honestly not much to tell. "Dreamt Peter was fucking me. Hurting me. He told me that's the only way anyone would want me. Woke up," he swallows, "hard." 

"I'm sorry," Jon says, soft and low. "Can I try something?" Martin nods. "Alright. I'm going to say some things, and you'll repeat after me. Understood?"

Martin's "Yes," is shaky, but genuine. 

"You are loved," Jon says.

Repeating, "I am loved," is hard but doable. He knows Jon loves him. He does. 

"You are wanted. People want you to be happy."

"I am wanted." Martin's voice wavers. "People want me to, to be happy."

"It wasn't your fault."

Martin doesn't quite struggle, but he does say, "Jon--"

"Is that a safeword?" Jon asks. Martin settles down wordlessly. "In that case, say that it wasn't your fault."

There's a tide in Martin's mind, washing in the debris of, _I knew what I was getting into_ , and, _I did this to myself_ , and _If only I'd--_

Jon doesn't argue. His hand tightens on the back of Martin's neck, and he repeats, "It wasn't your fault. Say it."

"It wasn't my fault," Martin whispers, barely finding breath to make out the words.

"Again."

"It wasn't m-my fault." He's crying again, ugly and snotty. He struggles feebly, but Jon keeps him still.

In his dom voice, Jon asks, "Do you want me to let go?" 

Martin sobs, "No." 

"In that case, say it again. It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't my f--" and now he's crying too hard to speak, clutching Jon like he's a lifeline, like he's everything. 

When he finally surfaces, he has his head resting on Jon's shoulder. "I got your sleep shirt all dirty," Martin mumbles.

"It'll come off in the wash." Jon's arms encircle him, implacable. "It's not important. You are."

Martin's unwanted arousal has disappeared at some point during the crying jag. "Thank you," he says, awkwardly.

"Of course." Jon smoothes Martin's hair back from his forehead. "You need to cry sometimes. It's a thing your body and your mind need, a part of you. Just because it's messy doesn't mean it's wrong, or bad."

"Are you trying to be metaphorical?" Martin says, already falling back into sleep.

Jon snorts. "I suppose I'll leave the allegories to you," he says. He keeps holding Martin securely until Martin's consciousness fades.


End file.
